


At Every Opportunity

by wormhourdeluxe



Category: One Piece
Genre: (implied. sort of.), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, As One Does, Begging, Blow Jobs, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Not Beta Read, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Massage, Public Sex, Riding, Rough Sex, Sexual Frustration, Sort Of, Under-negotiated Kink, a lot of it, less "i hate u" and more "ur dick is compensation", shanks is an irredeemable sex fiend and bastard, this is really just a series of marco being assaulted on his own ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormhourdeluxe/pseuds/wormhourdeluxe
Summary: Marco gets used randomly and frequently at a cross-crew party with the Red-Haired Pirates.In other news, Shanks is on thin ice.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco
Comments: 39
Kudos: 179





	1. Out in the open

**Author's Note:**

> .......Welcome back..

Everyone was drunk out of their minds, and Shanks was gone. 

Not that Marco was worried. Why would he be? It wasn’t as if there was any reason to be concerned— he was more happy than anything that the other Yonko was making himself scarce. If Marco wasn’t as smart as he was he might have thought the man was giving him a much-deserved break.

Marco scanned the crowd of his rampant siblings as he walked, dodging stray bottles and bodies as he went. A few voices called out to him in greeting as he skirted the crowd but not the one he was looking for. “Thatch,” he shouted, “where is Ace?” He couldn’t see the cook, in the throng of drunken crew members and Red-Hair pirates, but there was no mistaking the yelp of alarm that carried over the broken singing. “You better not have let him drink! You know he can’t mix his medicine with alcohol!” There was a low, panicked murmur, and Marco rose an eyebrow as he caught sight of his brother’s distinctive pompadour ducking through the crowd. Away from him. 

_“Thatch,"_ No response. “Goddammit.” A few consoling pats were drunkenly passed to him as he slid through the crowd, many of his siblings laughing even as they tripped over each other getting out of his way. They weren’t fast enough for Marco to maintain his line of sight but with how inebriated the entire ship was he was having no trouble keeping tabs through haki alone. 

( _Except for Shanks,_ the back of his head whispered, and he viciously kicked that down and out. So what if the man was avoiding him. Marco did that constantly to him— he wasn’t a goddamn teenager, for fucks sake.)

Marco stepped below deck. “Thatch,” he said, exasperated. “I won’t kick you overboard if you just—“ 

Fingers clamped around his wrist and Marco went stiff. 

He was moving barely before he felt that hand tug. Immediately, he was twisting in the grip with talons already bared— and hissed in surprise when that hand spun him off balance and slammed him up against—

_“Shanks,”_ Marco snapped, _“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”_

The Yonko smiled cheerfully at him. Marco could feel his hand slip down from his wrist to his waist, fingers smoothly sliding to settle into the small of his back. “Rescuing a good man,” he chirped blithely. Deceptively casual, his hand pressed into Marco— crushing him up against Shanks' front until he had to latch onto the other's shoulders for balance. “Does Thatch really deserve whatever you were going to do to him?” 

Marco tried uselessly to lean back enough to properly glare. Shanks' arm may as well be solid steel for how it refused to budge— all he was managing to do was squirm against the man’s _(very, very solid, very warm, very—)_ front. “I need to find Ace,” he argued, “I don’t have time to indulge you with whatever stupid idea you have right now.” 

Shanks grinned. Pulled Marco impossibly closer, leaned down until his lips just brushed his cheekbone, breath whispering across his ear— “even if it involves me making you cum until you can’t?” He asked. Marco's thoughts stuttered to a halt. He could feel it through their shared contact when Shanks chuckled. “Even if it involves me spreading your legs open and holding you down the way you like? Come on birdy, it’s a party... don’t you wanna _play?”_

Marco's mouth opened and closed. “I need to— _Ace,”_ he said helplessly, and jerked in shock when Shanks' hand slithered down, squeezing his butt. “He’s— _Shanks.“_ those damned lips traced down the rise and dip of his cheek, trailing down and down until a tongue poked out against his lips. Marco's mouth clicked shut on impulse and was immediately met with teeth just barely skimming his bottom lip— pressure given to soft flesh like a threat. 

Shanks was still smiling against his lips. “Indulge me,” he asked, and surged forward. 

Marco gasped as his shoulders hit the wall. Shanks' tongue was immediately in his mouth, licking up against the roof, rubbing against Marco's own tongue— swallowing a startled cry when the hand on Marco's ass pushed just enough to grind him firmly against the other man. Clothes between them did nothing to hide Shanks' shameless arousal pressing against him. He was trapped. Stuck between a wall and a warm body forcing his legs apart. Shanks' arm alone had him on his toes— making Marco flail for a purchase as the Yonko yanked him off the ground to settle more firmly against his body. 

Teeth again caught his lip and Marco shuddered when that hand coyly slipped under his loosened sash. A thumb pressed hard into the divot just above his tailbone, fingers pressing lower— “Isn’t that better?” Shanks murmured. His hips undulated up, clothed friction against Marco's trapped cock making blood rush down from his head so quickly he was dizzy with it. “This is what a party’s _for,_ Marco. Isn’t it more fun, when you let yourself relax?” Marco's head lolled to the side without thinking, jaw nudged aside by Shanks' searching lips as they spoke against his skin. He shuddered when teeth delicately grazed his adam’s apple. “...and you do it so _well._ Pliant and beautiful, under my hands— how long have you been aching for it?” 

Those hinted canines sunk deep into the muscle just above his shoulder and Marco jumped, a moan choked out of him as blue flared up under the bite. Shanks' rolled his hips forward hard enough to make a shiver run violently down his spine and he hissed with the strength of it, leg folding under the pressure—

“Marco?” 

Immediately, Shanks was pulling back. Marco instinctively reached for him, to cling, to grab, to pull back and _finish what he started—_ and Shanks stepped out of arms reach, leaving Marco to stumble to his feet. His legs were unsteady. Still slightly shaky, his cock twitching under the sudden rush of cold air and absence as his bite ached with phantom pain. 

He was still so fucking, goddamn, _stupidly_ hard, and Shanks had _stepped away._

Talons ripped through the floorboards and Marco slammed a hand against the wall behind him in an effort to get himself under control. Shanks barely looked winded. The bastard just slunk further back, tongue sliding reverently over spit-slick lips while his eyes continued to _smolder_. _“Uh oh,”_ he sang quietly, “looks like the firecracker heard the commotion.” 

Marco straightened his back and hoped his glare was strong enough to turn Shanks to ash. _“You—“_ he snarled. Forcibly turned his talons back into feet, managed a single step forward—

_“Marco!”_ Ace chirped, swaying around the corner, “there you are!” 

“See you later, pretty bird,” Shanks whispered, and slipped out of sight. 

Marco took every last shred of control and patience he had in him and turned to Ace. “I was looking for you,” he greeted amicably. 

For once he was glad the commander was definitely drunk. It would do Marco leagues in pretending he wasn’t still flushed and tousled, with his sash barely hiding an erection. 

He was going to _kill_ Shanks. 

* * *

Shanks was missing again. 

Marco hadn’t been so on edge since their last skirmish with Kaido. What was it with Yonkos and wanting to steal him, damn it? If Big Mom tried to eat him it would complete the new cycle of “Adopt, Kidnap, Fuck” that seemed to be spiraling around him. 

At least his dilemma wasn’t public knowledge. With how drunk his siblings currently were he doubted anything short of cutting off his own head in front of them would catch their attention enough to sober them up. 

It didn’t help his frustration. 

No amount of observation haki was helping him in tracking down the red-haired bastard. Not that Marco was entirely sure whether he was more inclined to kill him or fuck him, but both required _finding_ him first— and he wasn’t exactly having a stroke of luck. How Shanks managed to so easily suppress his massive aura enough to constantly slip Marco's notice was equally impressive and _infuriating._

“When I catch this asshole,” he hissed under his breath, transforming his arms, “I swear—“ 

An arm slid around his waist. 

“Yes? Go on?” 

Marco could feel his eye twitch. He flapped his arms powerfully, nearly launching both of them skyward only to falter in surprise when he actually ripped free of Shanks' grip. 

It didn’t last. He had barely made it a foot before he was yanked back down— whipping around to see his tail feathers fisted in the Yonko's hand. _“Where are you going,_ pretty bird?” He sang— and Marco practically _snarled_ when he ended up right back where he started. “I’m _hurt!_ I can’t believe you would try to leave me behind!” He could feel his dick, hard and unmistakable against his ass. Even through both their pants, it so easily slid up right against Marco. As if muscle memory left it simple and uncomplicated, as if Shanks could fuck him right through their clothes. 

(He could, Marco knew. He had lost some of his favorite pants, just to Shanks deciding that clothes were simply an inconvenience. Thatch had ribbed him for over an hour over needing to buy new clothes just because a fucking _Yonko_ tore them off him for anything over than a fight––)

_“You’re a fucking menace!”_ Marco bit out. “Get the fuck off of me, we're going to be seen!” A familiar hand circled from behind him. Calloused fingertips slid unhindered across his abs, dragging down and down— and Marco was left choking on his own curses when they wrapped neatly around his cock. _“Shanks!”_

A smile was pressed into the back of his neck and Marco was nothing but _furious_ to feel goosebumps immediately rise under those lips. “You sound angry,” Shanks whispered into his skin. Teeth grazed, a gentle warning. Marco jerked in place, barely restrained by Shanks' hold as a thumb slid over the head of his dick. “Anything I can do to make it better, _sweetheart?”_

_Keep fucking moving your hands. I’m going to kill you if you stop again—_ “make me fucking _cum,_ you arrogant fucking bastard,” Marco snapped. Fingers tightened swiftly around him and he threw his head back, shuddering violently under the pressure of that firm hand. Shanks' hips pressed him tightly against the railing and he ground back without thinking. Just barely aware of his surroundings outside of that hand, of that friction when Shanks' cock nudged against the cleft of his ass. “M-make me, _make me—“_

That same fucking mouth nipped at his ear, making him gasp— and then Shanks was pulling back again, leaving Marco to stumble. Leaving him cold and freezing and _furious_ — 

He wasn't fast enough to do more than catch the ends of red hair as Shanks vanished right back into the party. A turn and he was gone. 

_Again._

All that stopped Marco from screaming was how out of breath he was. 

* * *

It was fine. Marco prided himself on his control. He could handle being stiffed twice in one night. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have better things to do. Being the first division commander required constant attention and composure, and he had been in this role for a long time. He could handle it. 

He just needed to focus. The arousal had finally faded enough for him to hide his persistent erection, to finally return to his siblings intact. They were all fine, of course, he hadn’t been gone for long, but now he needed to check the Moby’s stocks after watching Ace wake up half draped over what used to be a whole buffet table. 

One distraction after another. One task to the next. He could do it for however long it took for the boiling in his blood to simmer down, and his hands to stop shaking. His Phoenix Fire could only do so much. 

(He was going to gore Shanks the moment he found him. It didn’t matter that Shanks was a Yonko— he was going to fucking ride that dick until he passed out and then toss him overboard for leaving him high and dry _twice_ —) 

The door to the stockroom clicked shut behind him. 

Marco was already whipping around, already practically spitting with fury— and Shanks grinned up at him, impossibly smooth from where he had so calmly settled on his knees before him. 

“Hello again, beautiful,” he crooned. A hand slid up Marco's leg, taking advantage of his stilled surprised to plant itself unmoving along Marco's upper thigh. “Would you be a sweetheart and undo your pants for me?”

_It’s a trick. It’s another dirty fucking trick and I’m not going to fall for it._

His pants hit the floor. 

Shanks’ smile was infuriating. Too bright, too gleeful, too innocently _delighted_ for a man hooking one of Marco's legs over his shoulder. It didn’t falter for a second— gnowing frustrating _wider_ when Marco twisted his fingers into red hair and yanked his head forward. 

_“You owe me,”_ Marco said, tone frigid. That hand slipped underside Marco, anchoring itself with nails just skimming the delicate skin of his inner thigh. he was already too worked up to even bother trying to hide his twitch. Those irritating, annoying, stupid, intoxicating lips leaned up, pressing a sucking kiss to the underside of Marco's cock. There was absolutely nothing he could do besides glower— watching with barely controlled impassivity as he rapidly filled out under Shanks' mouth. 

_“Of course,”_ The Yonko breathed, and then there was a _mouth_ on him. Teeth barely brushing overheating, sensitive skin, a tongue flicking out like a viper striking to chase Marco as he curled in on a gasp. His leg tightened unconsciously and only managed to pull, to press Shanks' throat humming and hot and unbelievably _tight_ around the head of his cock. Left shaking under that mouth as it slurped obnoxiously, swallowing so thickly around him that Marco's eyes almost rolled up into his head. 

The pressure was immediate. Roaring and ripping, tearing into him so easily as if he was a flimsy paper lost in the wind. Blowing him off his feet already left unsteady _twice_ over, twice cheated, twice used and abused and— 

Marco hissed, the sound choking out of him more like a whimper. “I’m— I’m going to kill you r-right _now_ if you keep humming the fucking— stop _singing shanties with my dick in your mouth.”_ Shanks, the bastard, had the audacity to actually _laugh_ at him. A full laugh, one that rocked Marco so hard his jaw fall slack around the vibrations of it. “A-are you, you, _fucking— kidding— me—_ “ 

Shanks pulled back, still giggling— fucking _giggling,_ the only Yonko Marco would likely ever know that would fucking _giggle_ around a mouthful of cock— and pressed a daring bite to the soft flesh of an inner thigh. His hand was absolutely sloppy, fisting Marco's cock. Glistening with saliva and precum, moving with enough dogged purpose to have Marco's toes curling under the force of it. 

“If you, don’t fucking— don’t put your mouth back on me _right now,_ I w-won’t apologize for what happens next,” he warned. His words only gained him another beaming smile completely out of place, blinding him from where Shanks still knelt in a perfect, mussed picture of submission. Clothes and hair ruffled under Marco's unthinking hands. 

“Patience is a virtue,” he had the gall to respond, and then whatever Marco could have said next was lost in a throaty cry as he was swallowed back into that tight heat. Shanks' fingers, practically dripping wet, pressed up into Marco's body with so little warning that Marco was _shouting_ with it. Twisting and searching, thrusting hard enough against his front to make him spasm in place. His hips were pinned between Shanks' hand and his mouth. There was no way to move without subjecting himself to one impossibility or the other— shuddering between Shanks' terrifyingly talented mouth or his deft fingers now rubbing insatiably at his prostate. 

_“Finally,”_ Marco laughed. He was maybe a little hysterical, maybe a little manic under the numbing rush of his approaching orgasm. “Finally, finally, _yes—“_

His throat gave out. He was left blinded in the force of his own climax, shaking like a leaf through it as Shanks worked him over thoroughly. Still roughly playing with his body until Marco forced out a sobbed rendition of his name, hands now pushing away instead of yanking closer. 

He wasn’t able to stay standing without Shanks' support. The moment his leg slipped from Shanks' shoulders he was on the floor. Splayed out and twitching through the aftershocks— and then _gasping,_ as Shanks didn’t even pause. He just grabbed at Marco, yanking him up by his hips, rubbing his shoulders raw against the hard wood of the floorboards until his trembling thighs were again hooked over broad shoulders and _screaming_ when an all-too-familiar tongue filled him. Helplessly shuddering, left choking out a weak little series of cries as he was pried back open. Back tense and arched like a bow as fingers shoved back inside of him, forced up against his nerves over and over. That damned tongue traced Marco's hole, licked a trail up to his balls and back down. Pressing _hard_ against his perineum, as if trying to lick at his own fingers just rubbing along the other side. Riding the remnants of his first orgasm until Marco was shaking through a _second_. 

His voice cut out on the scream he tried to let out. 

By the time he was aware enough through the buzzing to feel again, Shanks had already pulled back. Left him aching, shaking, limbs dead weight on the floor. He barely managed a distressed whimper when a rough hand clamped around his wrists and forced him up onto his feet, holding him there until his flailing legs caught a resemblance of purchase— 

“You should go back to the party,” Shanks chirped, voice raw and cheerfully ignorant of how it broke and halted, “I think I heard someone calling for you.” 

He was gone, again, _fucking again—_ and not even two orgasms could stop Marco from sliding back into his knees and sobbing out a curse. 

* * *

He had been dragged by Vista down to deal for an increasingly drunken round of poker, and If Marco didn’t know better, he’d think it was over. 

Actually, he did think that. It was easy to— he had already cum twice, so surely Shanks' weird game of edging and denial was over? Whatever he had been planning had fallen through. Marco had won. 

(...Right? Could that count as a win? He wasn’t sure, but he _was_ sure he was losing brain cells thinking about it.)

No, he would be fine. It had been near an hour since he last saw Shanks, back in the stock rooms— and he was surrounded by his siblings right now. Had been for a while now, and by the way he had to keep getting up to prevent one of his brothers from jumping each other over their cards Marco doubted he’d be leaving any time soon. 

“I have a four! A four— Marco give me a four!” Curiel shouted, and Marco was treated to the brilliant play of the man sweeping half the cards scattered over the barrel they were using as a table onto the deck. 

_“No!”_ Haruta gasped. Marco sighed as he stood up to prevent another fistfight, ignoring the slurred cries in order to plop his smaller brother back into his seat. “No, Marco, no! How will we win the war now?! You’d betray me?!”

“I’m not even playing, Haruta, I’m dealing,” Marco reminded him uselessly, “just let me get more cards—“ he turned and froze. 

Shanks smiled innocently. Light and friendly, sitting where Marco had just been. A cheek propped up under a hand as if he didn't have obvious ulterior motives to keep harassing the Phoenix. “Hey Marco,” he greeted casually, “want to deal me in?” 

Marco didn’t even get the chance to kick him out. He barely opened his mouth before Vista's face lit up, finally noticing the red-haired Yonko now sitting beside him. “Shanks!” He cheered, “good man, joining us! Come, we will make _fools_ of these brothers of mine— Marco! Come deal him in!” 

_“Yeah, Marco,”_ Shanks crooned, “come deal me in.”

_This bastard._

Marco wasn’t glowering. Really, he wasn’t— his expression had surpassed that point. Whatever face he was making now was an elaborate attempt to commit murder without moving. “I have nowhere to sit,” he said easily. “Shanks will have to deal you in,” And despite everything in him that _knew_ not to, he turned to leave. 

Marco didn’t even make it a step before he was in Shanks' lap. 

A chin poked up over his shoulder, Shanks' hair brushing Marco's jaw. The Phoenix didn’t even need to look down to confirm Shanks' hand tightening around his wrist. He couldn’t anyway— his whole body frozen stiff. Staring straight forward, ramrod and silent, eyes wide—

_My brothers are literally right here_. 

“Come on Marco, let the guy play.”

Marco shot an incredulous look at Haruta. There wasn’t even a twitch in the other commander's expression. Not him, nor Vista, nor Curiel, or Fossa— none of them even seemed to notice that Marco was literally seated on top of Shanks. 

_...How drunk are they?!_

“...Yeah, okay,” he finally managed. Tried not to look back when Shanks actually let his wrist go, to allow him to reach for the cards again. “We can start a new game. Give me tHE—!” The edge of the barrel crunched under his grip. His eyes were pinned to the top of their makeshift table as Shanks' hand prodded at his pants again, tugging gently enough to go unnoticed. Leaning forward to reach the rest of the discarded deck had shifted him slightly in Shanks' lap, moving just enough to brush something all too frustratingly familiar. 

“Marco?” 

His head snapped up, meeting Haruta's eyes. “Ah, I—“ a muffled click of a belt buckle, the snap of a button. “Right, I’m—“ Shanks' cock pressed firmly up against his ass, slipping between his cheeks slick and hot and he flushed so suddenly that blue flames flickered across his cheekbones. 

“Marco? You okay?” The smaller commander's eyes were starting to clear up. Sobering in his concern, leaning closer— 

_“I’m fine,”_ Marco gasped. His feet pressed hard against the floor in restraint as Shanks slowly glided the tip of his dick inside of him. _“Ah,_ I’m, uh, hold on.” He had to lean back. The cards were in his hands and his thighs were starting to burn. he couldn’t just keep hovering over the barrel. 

Shanks' hand curled around his hip. “They’re waiting for you to deal, Marco." His fingers pressed lightly into the dip of Marco's pelvis, just enough for his nails to gently dig into the skin, just enough to leverage a small pull, a little tug—

Marco bit his tongue around a low groan as he slowly sank down onto Shanks' cock. 

There was a tiny pat on his thigh. _“Good job,”_ Shanks whispered behind his ear, and Marco grit his teeth so hard something crack. 

Focusing on splitting everyone’s cards was infinitely harder, when every time he moved Shanks moved inside of him. Pressing firmly up against sensitive nerves still slightly open and raw from earlier. “O-okay,” he forced out, cursing himself for the tiny slip, “who wants to draw first?” 

Vista went first, shouting rather victoriously for someone slapping down a three of hearts, and Marco nearly bit through his lip restraining an undignified little noise when Shanks took the opportunity to buck up deeper inside of him. If Marco focused enough, he could feel him twitching. Feel the Yonko's heartbeat, pressed up against him, inside him— 

“Oh, is it my turn?” Shanks asked, and when he leaned forward Marco was left scrambling to hold onto something as the new angle forced Shanks' cock so firmly against his prostate that his breath hitched loudly. “Ah, this is kind of rough with one hand— Marco, would you hold this for me?” Something nudged Marco's hands still stiff and white-knuckled around the edge of their mock-table, and Marco grabbed at it unthinkingly.

_“Much_ better, thank you,” was purred directly into Marco's ear— and Marco nearly ripped the cards to shreds when that hand slid right back over his thigh, slipping inconspicuously under Marco's sash to trail delicately over hardening flesh. “Use the four, the one in diamonds.” 

_“I’m going to kill you,”_ Marco snarled under his breath. He knew Shanks could hear him. Knew even without that damned hand, those damned fingers circling his cock— “I’m going to fucking _eviscerate_ you right here on this deck.” 

That was definitely a smile, against his back. “What, with a dick in your ass? You never cease to impress me,” and Marco slapped down the four to hide how his hips bucked uncontrollably when Shanks subtlety fucked up into him, his fingers twisting cruelly around the head of Marco's cock. He hated himself for it just a little, when he could feel the familiar tremor running up his legs. 

“Marco, can you deal me a few cards? I swear Haruta is cheating...” 

“You— you know it doesn’t, _Ah,_ I don’t,” Marco tried, eyes slipping halfway shut as Shanks bounced him carefully on his lap. “I, _mmn—“_

He was going to have to better facilitate just how much alcohol they went through in one night, after this. There was no way his siblings shouldn’t have been able to notice him getting fucked right in front of them— what if they got attacked like this? 

“Oh, it’s fine, Marco, I think I know what to do—“ Vista unsheathed his sword with a _shiing_ of metal that immediately sent the entire table off. Marco gasped aloud when Shanks took the distraction to begin roughly thrusting up into him, one hand easily lifting him up on his cock for gravity to pull Marco back down again and again— riding his body as hard as he could before they were noticed. A tiny, continuous whine was forced out of Marco's lungs with every little shift, every drop down that seemed to press more and more air out of him and not give any back. 

“I am a _winner!_ Full pot, undisputed—“ 

Marco slapped Shanks' hand off. Tore away, stood up so fast his head spun. Jerked out of arms reach, hands flying to his pants and running before anyone could realize what was happening— his siblings too fixated on their brawled winnings to notice Marco sprinting below deck as if he was on fire. 

He didn’t make it far— it seemed he never was able to, never able to get away from Shanks— not from his hands, nor from his lips or smile or cock— and was left crying out, legs folding as that calloused palm slapped between his shoulder blades–– slammed him up against the door of his cabin and stuffed him full again. 

_“Why are you running?”_ Shanks hissed. His hips snapped forward, pounding into Marco as if they weren’t out in the open, as if he hadn’t just fucked Marco in front of all his brothers— “that wasn’t nice of you, Marco, I thought you were _better_ than that.” Insatiable, unstoppable— every little twist of Shanks' hips ground his shaft hard against Marco's sweet spots, split him open deeper and deeper— “I was _going_ to take care of you, but then you ran away.” 

“Someone—“ Marco choked, fingers scrabbling at the grains of his door when Shanks' hand again wrapped around his dick as smoothly as if it had never left. “We’re going to, we’re— _seen.”_

“You kiddin’?” Shanks groaned into his shoulder. His lashes brushed against Marco's heated skin, the slight tickle enough to make a shiver run down his spine. “They couldn’t tell even when we were right in front of them. Couldn’t see my dick inside of you, couldn’t hear you whimpering— I bet I could have made you cum right there on those cards and they’d be too, _Ah,_ too drunk to even notice!” He moaned loudly as he buried himself up to the hilt inside of Marco, his breath almost searing hot where it brushed the nape of his neck. “But you left, you l-left and now— now you don’t _get to—“_ another sound, ripped out of the back of the Yonko's throat, and Marco's lips parted with a soundless cry as he felt him cum inside of him. 

—and immediately pulled back, pulled out. Shanks' panted as he watched Marco's knees fold. Stood aside as the Phoenix slid to his knees, hands pressed white and trembling to the door as cum dripped out of him. His erection was still ignored and untouched, a painful red from denial. 

“You don't get to come this time,” Shanks said, darkly satisfied, and despite knowing he would be alone in the hallway when he finally managed to stand again Marco knew the feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. 


	2. Querulous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is fed up and finally gets what he wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning And Welcome Back My Highly Esteemed Audience

Everyone had their limits. Their lines, the boundary where common sense just sort of snapped a little bit— 

People were stumbling out of Marco’s warpath as if he was going to dismember them on his way past. 

“I’ve had  _ enough,” _ he hissed under his breath. Enough of teasing, and playful little jabs. An orgasm or two didn’t fill in for the void where Shanks fucking left him  _ again _ . Didn’t make up for the past time, nor the four before that, nor the audacity to have sex with him in front of his brothers and  _ still not let him—  _ “Shanks, you goddamn bastard,  _ I know you can hear me.” _

It didn’t matter if he was whispering. It didn’t matter that Shanks wasn’t even in eye sight. Marco knew better, by that point, than to think no one was listening. 

(How could he not? He was a walking physical reminder that hiding from the Yonko was impossible. Anything short of being airborne clearly wasn’t enough to keep him out of greedy eyes and hand’s reach.) 

No, Shanks knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. He had known all night. Keeping tabs focused enough to swoop in whenever he damn wanted, to open Marco up again and again and leave him raw and aching and  _ alone _ . Marco was going to get his time’s worth and then some, or die trying. He wasn’t just a toy to be plucked off a shelf for whenever Shanks was feeling a little heated. He was plenty dangerous in his own right regardless of whether he wanted to be pinned against a wall some days— if that took a little bit of blood and lethal injury as a reminder then so be it. 

Restless anger bubbled hotter in his chest. Boiling his blood from their usual chill, heating him from the inside out until Marco swore his flames would match Ace’s if he used them. 

Every second he failed to find Shanks was another degree that his blood pressure rose. Frustration twisted into something ugly and feral, claws uncurled, lips pulled back— 

—and in the wake of that tide, Shanks’ aura blipped onto Marco’s radar for the first time all night as if poking its head out from around a corner. 

Marco was already mid-air. 

The actual time it took to move was nonexistent and irrelevant. The chill of the night settling in canceled under the embers of Marco’s own boiling irritation, meaningless against superheated skin. 

He next blinked and Shanks was under him. Sprawled across the floorboards and smirking like a cat on a successful hunt. Always such a cocky, arrogant,  _ smug— _ “Hi!” His nails dug into the meat of Marco’s thigh, bracketed firmly around Shanks’ hips like a cage. A prison encapsulated in the space between Marco’s legs. 

“You found me,” Shanks cheered. As if he hadn’t been hiding that entire time. As if he hadn’t been playing touch and go, as if he hadn’t flashed his fangs and refused to  _ bite down— _

“I  _ hate _ you,” Marco spat. Shanks’ grin didn’t even waver. He laughed loudly, deep and giddy and entirely too happy to watch as his pants were nearly torn to shreds under Marco’s impatient hands. A familiar glint sparkled in his eyes, tracing Marco’s movements as he audibly tore his own pantstrying to get them out of the way before just giving up with them halfway down his thighs. “I hate you, you stupid goddamn  _ bastard _ of a Yonko, you—“ he didn’t waver. His smile refused to twitch even when Marco grabbed his cock none too gently (already so hard, practically vibrating under his fingers with how painfully, shamelessly aroused the other was) and pressed it without pause between his legs. “—I’m going to use you until you  _ cry.”  _

The last part maybe wasn’t a solid threat. Not with the way Marco’s throat fluttered around the words, strangled and blissed out as he finally,  _ finally,  _ sank back onto that cock like he had wanted to for what felt like years. The world blurred fuzzily at the corners. Sweeping away every lingering shred of awareness of his clothes, nearly hanging off him, of Shanks’ infuriating face, of the cool floorboards still under his knees. 

He was already so close to tears himself. All hard earned composure thrashed in the face of restrained frustration. If Shanks just thrust hard enough, they would all spill over like a toppled glass of water and what was Marco’s threat then but something empty and desperate? 

_ Touch me. Touch me. Touch me _ . 

Nothing mattered in the moment except for getting off. 

Shanks could pick him up right then and there, with Marco impaled on his cock, and go have a drink with Pops and Marco wasn’t entirely sure he’d convince himself to stop. It was a struggle to spare a thought for anything over than that heat curling inside of him— quick and furious, shredding the floorboards where his toes curled into talons. Trying to get a grip when his hands couldn’t, flailing for a pretense of a purchase across Shanks’ disheveled shirt. Anchoring him in his endeavor to thrust as much of that cock inside of him as he could. Shanks’ grinning face was a constant and unendingly  _ annoying _ backdrop to the fuzzy white pleasure and Marco ground forward hard, trembling with the effort of it, to roughly force him up against his prostate. Energy spent pushing back, bouncing in place over leaning forward to wrap his hands around that tanned throat. He could almost feel the stubble under his palms. 

The pressure of it made him audibly grind his teeth. Fabric tore under his hands. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shanks purred. His hand twitched where he had pressed it against the floor beside his head. Unmoving, relaxed— barely a twinge in his brow even as Marco gasped loudly, practically trembling in his lap without any but his own efforts. “Look at you, falling apart. I didn’t even have to do anything.” 

Marco sobbed, hand shaking so intensely it took him two tries to wrap it around his dick. “You’re an asshole,” he hissed. “Y-you’re— you—“ wet, filthy,  _ loud _ — every frantic thrust of Marco’s hips followed by a slick slap of skin, a buzzing friction that made his jaw fall slack in the wake of it— “—fucking  _ touch _ me, damn it!” 

“Why? You always say I’ll ruin art if I touch it.”

_ This is not the fucking time for— “are you fucking kidding?”  _ Marco snarled. Feathers exploded along his shoulder blades, pushing up through his shirt as if it wasn’t even there. If he had been Ace, they would have incinerated clean off him. Instead they rested, hazy and uncontrolled, backlighting them both in blue. 

Shanks’ face lit up and Marco knew his eyes must have been glowing. 

He was so close. So close. So very, very,  _ very _ close— that coil in his gut hadn’t loosened. Had only gotten tighter with every hour that passed where he couldn’t come, couldn’t find Shanks, couldn’t take what they both knew he needed— 

_ Touch me.  _ **_Touch me._ **

Tears pricked his eyes. Searing hot and almost blinding him with his they reflected the glow of his powers back into his eyes. His hips stuttered, weak and shaky. Touching and yet not being touched was suddenly, intensely,  _ agonizing _ . Rage shuddered out of him so quickly it left him overheated and empty, feverish with want.  _ “Please,” _ Marco choked out. His hand not on his dick scrambled for Shanks’ own, trembling and tight where he dragged that calloused palm across his abs damp with sweat. Down his chest, his stomach— Shanks’ face spasmed. _ “P-please touch me.” _

Marco’s back hit the floor, and his arms vanished in a plume of blue. 

Shanks teeth blazed blue, bright like a warning as he surged forward and hiked Marco’s knees to his chest so roughly the air was forced out of his lungs. Marco didn’t— he didn’t  _ care _ . A high, almost hysterical laugh escaped him. His wings wrapped around Shanks, ensnaring him as tightly as physically possible. Not giving an inch for every bit the other leaned in closer— uncaring for anything but how Shanks was finally, finally,  _ fucking finally moving.  _

_ “Yes,” _ Shanks laughed. His hand practically slapped Marco’s away from his cock in its hurry to replace it, grip tight with determination enough to make Marco throw his head back and  _ sing _ . “Was that so  _ hard?”  _

There was no point asking. Marco’s hearing had been reduced to pounding static and ringing. He was all out of jabs and sass to give. All out of insults, and retorts, and breath left to speak. He had already spent every one of his snarls and lost— lost in the relief of Shanks finally fucking him  _ properly _ . Lost everything, lost the game, lost his composure— Shanks let out a startled laugh when tears rolled down Marco’s cheeks, salting his cries something savory. Nothing but a high, trilling moan escaped him when the yonko leaned forward and finally made good on his threats, sinking his teeth into Marco’s throat so deep that the cry he made was choked and raw.  _ Animalistic.  _ Shanks could hear it when talons brutally hooked into the floor, leveraging Marco to drag himself down onto his cock. Could hear it when Marco’s breath ran ragged, could feel through every inch of flesh on his body how his heart hammered out of control. There was nothing  _ sweet _ or  _ seductive _ about it anymore— nothing coy to be had when Shanks’ sweat was cooling under the brush of blue flames, not when Marco cried so beautifully for him— 

“You’re fucking  _ incredible,”  _ Shanks allowed himself to whisper, a dirty secret in the dark— and when he dug his thumb in, right at the tip, Marco’s back bowed with a scream like a man being murdered. White splattered across Shanks’ palm, across his chest and stomach and Shanks just laughed in unadaltured delight when Marco screamed some more, writhing under his weight as he continued to fuck into him violently. Why waste a pause, when he knew Marco could take it? This wasn’t  _ new— _ Shanks knew Marco could keep going, and going, and  _ going— _ his body following after Shanks even if his brain couldn’t anymore. Even if his eyes glowed gold, rolling back into his head, even if his throat gave out and his legs seized. 

“You  _ begged _ me for this,” Shanks snarled, raking filthy wet welts of blue down Marco’s stomach, “do you really think me so greedy?” Ramping higher and higher. Never ending. Never stilling. Marco’s body spasmed, flaring brightly as if trying to heal and not knowing what was hurt. The fire was cool against the roof of Shanks’ mouth, licking up past his lips when he parted them against Marco’s flesh. His gut was already twisting, clenching tight and unforgiving. “Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Shanks bit out into the meat of his phoenix’s shoulder, flaring haki wide and thick like a third grip to hold him down and Marco’s body curled into him with a cracking of tense joints as he came a second time. 

Shanks groaned, long and low. He could barely move, held so tightly. Even immobilized, Marco’s hole clamped around him was rippling around his cock— his partner’s entire body practically vibrating in his arms from the force of his orgasm. 

A tiny, slightly overwhelmed giggle escaped him.  _ Marco hates when I cum inside of him, and this time wasn’t even my fault.  _

It took a while to coax those arms, even semi solid, to unwrap enough for Shanks to sit up. Marco was nonverbal. His legs slid limply off off Shanks’ shoulders when he let them go, jostling Marco lightly. The poor man looked half dead. Fucked out of a couple years of his life, probably, with how his chest still heaved trying to catch his breath. Shanks was pretty sure he hadn’t passed out, with the way he groaned when he gently squeezed his thigh— but Shanks’ favorite blue eyes weren’t focusing on him anymore. Cum was slowly beginning to drip out of him. A starkly pale contrast to the dark and angry red marks bitten into Marco’s thighs. Shanks was admittedly frozen for a moment just watching. Tracing his eyes up and down, over and over as if starved of his eyesight until that very moment. 

Maybe he was. It was a rare, rare,  _ rare _ treat. One so rare he could barely remember whether he last saw it in a dream or not. One he wasn’t sure he was willing to give up just yet. 

...Shanks was a greedier man than he himself considered. 

Marco only wheezed quietly when the Yonko scooped him up. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe to pay attention to how he was swiftly carried off the Moby, as shaky as Shanks’ gait was— too busy to pay attention when the last of his brothers awake were flagged down. 

“You’ll get him back by morning,” he did manage to catch, “or not. He can fly, after all.” 

Hopefully Marco’s crew would be too hungover to notice their first mate going MIA for the night. Hopefully they were currently too drunk to see the hickies. Or the bite marks. Or the cum Shanks hadn’t even bothered to wipe off what was left of his clothes. 

...Marco was going to kill him the second he could walk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good morning! i went to bed Very, very, very late (later than normal for even me) but then was hit with a sudden need to Do and ended up staying up later to edit the second part so lucky yall!
> 
> i have! far too much nsfw lined up! because talking about them gave me 400 more ideas than normal!!! Stay Tuned! I Am Going Back To Bed Now!

**Author's Note:**

> ive been slowly writing this instead of working on literally anything else! Yeehaw! I cant stop thinking about them! Send Help
> 
> Also there's like one more part to this but im being slow on finishing it and with holidays coming it may take a while so im just posting the first part Now.
> 
> also this is so incredibly unedited. i barely caught capitalizations of names sadfgd ill touch it up when i finish the last part.. eventually

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That's the Kind of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885853) by [Irrelevancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrelevancy/pseuds/Irrelevancy)




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